


TF2 Secret Santa 2015: Part II

by Oddport



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Light Bondage, M/M, Sickfic, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddport/pseuds/Oddport
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three different prompts, three different fics! </p>
<p>1. When Cheavy gets fed up with a certain doctor, it's up to Pyro to help calm him down. (Gen)</p>
<p>2. Scout's not feeling well. What's a guy gotta do to get some sympathy? (Gen)</p>
<p>3. Scout's been a bit of a brat, and Sniper's just about had enough. (Mature)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Almost There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElloMenoP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloMenoP/gifts).



For the better part of the day, Bea had been in that room. One wall was still completely packed with crates and shipping containers as the team settled into their new base. Most of the equipment in this room was hers. A collection of flamethrowers, fuel containers, and various instruments of alternative means of persuasion. She hated buying into the stereotype of the woman who had to pack for any and all occasions, but really, you just never knew when you were going to have to torture a man to within an inch of his life.

Better safe than sorry, she always said.

It had taken her the better part of the last few hours to get even halfway through the pile. But now she looked up from the shipping manifest that she was reviewing for the sixth time that day. For some reason a pair of forceps and a flogger were still missing. She distinctly remembered packing them, but they were simply not where she thought they should be. A sign of aging, she supposed. She pulled out her pencil again and started back at the top. 

Flamethrower. Check.

Fire ax. Check.

Thumbscrews. Che-

Her pencil paused above the paper as the sound of Heavy footfalls marching down the hall reached her ears. A moment later the man himself barged through the doors of her workshop. Without missing a beat he threw himself into her custom built interrogation chair and slammed his hands down against the arms.

“I’m gonna kill him! I’m gonna wring that little poindexter neck of his and shove it right up his-”

“Are you still on that?” 

“No, I’m not still on that.” Heavy growled. “Greg is - somehow - completely fine. This is a completely new bone headed idea that doctor’s gotten into that thick krout skull of his. Do you know what just crossed my desk? Do you?”

Bea set her pad and pencil down on one of the shipping crates and walked over to a small propane stove that she had set up. The pot already had water, so she turned on the flame and set it to warm. She had a feeling she’d need a stiff drink after this, and given that Gray had banned alcohol on the base, a strong cup of coffee was going to have to do. 

“No. What did you just have cross your desk?”

“I just got a requisition for twenty seven aardvark pancreases!” 

She did have to pause at that one, but just for a minute and then she set back to work putting on a fresh pot of coffee to brew. “That’s… interesting.”

“He’s a fuckin’ nutcase!” Heavy’s hand slammed down against the chair’s arm again, and Bea winced as she swore she heard the wood start to crack. Again. Really, the man needed to find a better outlet for his frustration. Custom built interrogation chairs didn’t come cheap.

“I think he does it for attention.” She laughed a bit as she dug out the grounds and fished out a few mugs. “He seems like that type. I mean, what other kind of man would run out onto a battlefield with a white coat and a flock of doves for dramatic effect?”

“Oh he’ll get attention.” Heavy muttered. “Along with my boot up his ass.”

“And that’s what you get for hiring a youngster.”

Heavy humphed. “I didn’t hire the spastic little psycho. That was all Gray’s idea.” He got up out of the chair and started pacing around the room. “Whatever this respawn thing that quack’s got going apparently impressed the gremlin enough that he wanted him instead of having Ben re-signed.”

“And you know Ben wouldn’t have done it anyway.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Heavy groused. “Out of the business. Wife and kids. ‘Oh god, I can’t go to jail again!’ He always was a little puss.”

Heavy leaned up against the back of the chair, arms crossed over his chest. Bea just shook her head. For all his bluster and all his age, sometimes the man still acted like a pouty teenager. She set the mugs aside as the coffee slowly brewed.

“Look. I know you don’t like him.” She walked around to face Heavy, reaching up to lay a hand on either side of his face. “You don’t have to. But you do have to work with him, at least for now.”

Heavy pulled back a little but not too far. “I know.”

“And once we’re done with this job, it’s going to be retirement at last. We’ll finally buy that little remote island that we’ve always talked about and live the good life.” Bea smiled up at him. An honest smile born of affection for this man that had somehow lasted almost forty years. They had been running for so long, and now the end was in sight. 

Heavy sighed and pressed his cheek into Bea’s hand. He was tired. She could see it in every line in his face. For forty years he’d been their leader, and in all that time he’d born all the responsibilities that went along with that. If anyone in their rag tag band of mercenaries deserved to live out their life in quiet comfort, it was him.

After a moment, a smile finally started to creep across Heavy’s face. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. As she let her hands slip away from his face to lay on his arms, he gave her a little squeeze. He loved that layer of softness that hid the pure steel underneath. 

“It’s gonna be nice, darlin’.” The words were murmured into the salt and pepper hair that was decidedly more salty these days. “Gonna be real nice.”

“But before we go, I’ll strap that little Medic down to this chair for you, hun.” Bea leaned forward, lifting herself as far as she could onto her toes to plant a kiss on his nose. “Then we’ll make him scream.”

Heavy’s smile cracked into a grin. “Bea, you say the sweetest things.”


	2. Sick Day

Scout felt another shiver run down his spine as he pulled the covers even tighter around him. Every bit of his body ached, and whatever that green goop was that Medic had given him wasn’t doing jack all to help. On the bright side, he’d quit throwing up. Even if it was only because there wasn’t anything left in his stomach.

Whatever it was that had been running through the BLU team since they’d arrived at Coldfront was vicious and hit out of nowhere. They hadn’t been installed two days before Engineer was down, followed shortly after by Pyro. And Scout didn’t even want to think about what it was like to be barfing when you wore a full face mask all day. 

He’d found it funny at first; those big bad mercenaries who couldn’t handle a little cold.

Then it hit him like a freight train.

And on super spicy loco hot taco night. Man, those things were bad coming back up. The BONK! was even worse.

Medic had come around at some point the next day when Scout hadn’t shown up for the morning brief. Sick son of a bitch dressed in that fucking plague doctor mask of all things. He’d taken a quick temperature, dosed him up with that mysterious green stuff, and left a vomit bucket next to Scout’s bed.

And hadn’t been back since.

Scout let out a little snifle.

He wanted his ma.

Right at that very moment, he wanted nothing more than to be in his bed back home in Boston. He wanted his own blanket pulled over him, and to hear Ma’s soft humming as she sat there with him. She’d hold him close, gently rubbing his back and just letting him know everything was going to be okay. Toast and juice would be lovingly made and brought to his side as she fluffed his pillow and made sure he was comfortable.

Scout felt the edges of his eyes start to moisten at the thought of his ma, all the way on the other side of the country. He pulled his sheets over his head and buried himself under a pillow.

It helped to hide the scent of vomit.

By the time his eyes opened again darkness had fallen. Despite the lingering odor wafting up from the bucket, Scout actually felt pangs of hunger. If he were at home, his ma would check in on him every so often, and he almost expected to see her perfectly coiffed head poke in from the hall. He pulled his blankets further down and just watched the door for a few minutes, but soon tossed them off completely. He had to get something to drink. His throat was raw and needed something soothing.

As his feet touched the floor, there was a shaking in those legs that normally carried him so surely across the field. Aching muscles trembled, and he had to think about how to move one foot in front of the other as he made his way to the door. He almost considered emptying out the vomit bucket, but decided against it as right now he was just as likely to wind up wearing it as anything else. 

The dormitory wing was quiet. There were small cues that hinted at which of his teammates were still awake. Soft violin music let him know that Medic was still up and about, and the faint hint of cigar smoke meant that Soldier hadn’t yet played Taps that night.

Sout pressed his hand against the wall to steady himself as he slowly drug himself along. Up ahead was the sound of the television in the common room. Gunshots and whoops meant that someone was watching a western. Shuffling forward, he saw Sniper’s slouch hat and Demo’s cap as they lounged back on the couch. 

They saw Scout about the same time and both mercs gave him a death glare.

“What are ye doin’ out un about, laddie?”

“Gettin’ a drink.” Scout took a step towards the door, causing both men to shuffle backwards. 

“Don’t you be bringing that plague in here, mate.” Sniper growled. “Last thing we need is to catch whatever walkin’ death you have.”

Normally, Scout would have pushed back. Gotten closer. Shared the love. But right now, he was just feeling too awful to do anything.

“Jerks.” Scout sniffled and continued dragging himself along.

By the time he got to the kitchen, all Scout wanted to do was sit down and lay his head on the table and sleep. He got the first half of that done, but the room was just too bright, and the light felt like it was stabbing him in the eyes. So he opted to just lay his forehead on the table and feel sorry for himself.

That’s the only reason that Heavy surprised him.

“Scout?”

He wanted to jump, because damn, he wasn’t expecting the man to show up, but he just didn’t have the energy. Instead, he rolled his head to the side to look up at Heavy’s concerned face. Apparently that was all it took to answer whatever question Heavy had for him, as he gently pulled Scout back up from the table and then went directly for the kettle. “Heavy make you some tea. Will be good for you.”

Scout tried to smile. “Look at you, being all mother hen.”

“Have little sisters. Mama would work, so I would tend to them.” Heavy spoke casually as he put the kettle on the stove and lit the gas. “How do you feel?”

“I’m tired.” Scout admitted.

“Little Scout should not be out of bed.” There was no bite behind the rebuke. “Once we have tea, we go back to your room.”

They waited in silence until the kettle started to whistle. Quickly pouring out the water, Heavy left a bag to steep as he retrieved honey from the pantry and added a healthy dollop of it to the mug before handing it to Scout.

Scout sniffed the cup, and was relieved that it actually smelled nice. After the dubious goo that Medic had dosed him with, it was a nice change to get something that actually smelled that it belonged in a human stomach. 

“Tea is to drink, not to sniff, malen'kiy krolik.” Heavy smiled as he busied himself with cleaning out the kettle. 

“I think I’d better get back to bed.” Scout gazed at the kitchen door, and suddenly feeling that his room like his room was terribly far away.

“Would be good.” Heavy agreed. 

And without missing a beat, Scout found himself scooped into Heavy’s arms. Any other day he would have protested since he was a grown ass man, but right now he didn’t have the energy. Instead, he just went with it and clutched the mug to his chest as he leaned into Heavy’s shoulder. The walk seemed a lot shorter when someone else was walking, even on tiny Heavy legs.

Opening the door to Scout’s room, Heavy tutted as he looked around. Gently setting Scout back on the bed, he took the vomit bucket to empty its contents. He returned in a few minutes, the bucket emptied and rinsed and set it back by the bedside. As Scout continued to sip his tea, the Russian urged him to lean forward as Heavy reached behind to quickly fluff the pillows before easing Scout back.

“You are good?”

“Yeah.” Scout mumbled, looking at the bottom of the cup. The tea had helped his throat, but now he was going to go back to being alone and miserable.

Heavy nodded, apparently satisfied as he took the empty cup and set it down on the nightstand. Scout expected him to leave then. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply sat down on the edge of bed and pulled Scout up against him. Heavy was warm, and his thigh just the right kind of soft. One of those giant hands gently rubbed his back and Scout felt, more than heard, the soft humming of some song that he didn’t recognize, but that was probably perfect for little sisters who were being tended to.

Scout wasn’t quite sure how to react, so he did the only sensible thing. Cuddling up to Heavy, he wrapped an arm around the man’s thick waist, resting his head against his stomach. As he closed his eyes, he felt the blanket over him shift, sliding up to cover his shoulders. A contented sigh escaped as he felt exhaustion starting to tug at him and, as he listened to the gentle humming, finally looked forward to sleep.


	3. Bush Discipline

“Put me down, you goddamned koala fucker!” Scout wriggled and squirmed as best he could as he shouted and swore. 

Sniper clenched his jaw so hard he was surprised that he didn’t crack a tooth. Instead, he tightened his grip on the slight frame of the man currently bound and slung over his shoulder, earning a yelp as his rough nails dug into Scout’s exposed back.

“That fuckin’ hurt, asshole!” 

“Good.” Came the curt reply as Sniper continued his walk further away from the base. 

Scout could only watch as the lights from 2Fort got smaller and dimmer, the Australian carrying him further and further out into the desert scrub. Once it was clear that Sniper had no plans to let him go, Scout strained against the ropes that were tied around his wrists and holding his arms behind his back. Twisting and tugging at the bindings did absolutely nothing to the knots, and only left him with a burning sensation where he had managed to rub his skin almost raw. The ropes around his ankles were no better

He was about to open his mouth for another barrage of insults questioning Sniper’s parentage when he was suddenly and unceremoniously tossed to the ground. Gasping for the air that had been knocked out of his lungs, Scout struggled to get to a halfway comfortable position on the hard packed earth.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you? You can’t just kidnap me out of bed in the middle of the night, you freakin’ kangaroo humper!”

There was no answer, just vague hints of movement; small snaps and crackles reaching his ears as a campfire was coaxed into life.

“Help! Medic! Heavy! Anyone!” His shouts echoed off the walls of the canyons and off into empty space.

“Go ahead and yell yer bloody head off. Why else do ya think I brought you out here?” Sniper’s words were almost casual as he continued moving around somewhere behind him, causing Scout to crane his head to try and see where he was. From his restrained position, the only thing he could see was flickering light from the newly lit fire, but the lanky form of the bushman nowhere in sight. Suddenly, a calloused hand reached around, grabbing him roughly by the chin and yanking his head up so that he was eye to eye with Sniper. “I’m fuckin’ sick of your shit, ya little mongrel.”

Scout gulped as Sniper released his grip. His heart felt like it had jumped into his throat. He knew he’d been getting under the marksman’s skin over the past week. How could he not? He’d set out with that exact idea in mind.

“I’ve been patient with you.” Sniper wrapped his arms around Scout’s waist, hoisting him back up to dump him across a MannCo. crate that had been hauled out for this specific event. It was covered with what was no doubt intentionally the coarsest and itchiest wool blanket to be found in New Mexico. “But there are lines you don’t cross. Interfering with my job is one of them.”

“Well, maybe if you actually, ya know, gave me a little freakin’ attention once in awhile.” It was a snotty retort, and Scout was painfully aware of how needy it made him sound. But seriously, if Sniper was gonna fuck him on the regular, was it too much to ask that he maybe just say “hi” to him in the goddamned hall, or maybe take out that Demo before Scout got grenaded to kingdom come? Sure, Sniper didn’t talk much anyway, but still! So yeah, maybe he’d been a bit of a prick back. Running between a few targets, overtly signalling to Sniper and totally giving away his position, and running into Sniper’s nest just long enough to grope and run, laughing as he heard the inevitable string of expletives that came after a missed shot.

Sniper snorted and yanked down the boxers that had been the only bit of clothing Scout had on when he’d been abducted from his bedroom. “You wanted my attention? Well, you bloody well got it.”

“Wh… What are you doing?” 

“If you’re gonna act like a child, I’m gonna treat you like one. And as you’re too big to be put over my knee...”

Scout yelped as Sniper’s hand slapped against his ass, leaving a bright red mark across one cheek. He tried to squirm away, but Sniper’s other hand wrapped itself around Scout’s bindings and pressed down into his back. 

“Ow! Fuck you, you wombat dick sucker!” Scout snapped, kicking out with his bound legs, but unable to get anywhere close to his target. 

“Be glad I’m not using a switch.” Another smack landed on top of the first, bringing pricks of moisture to Scout’s eyes. The sting faded to a numb heat before Sniper changed his angle, dropping his hand to strike lower and catching the top of Scout’s scrotum, causing the younger man to jump and swear.

“Goddamnit!” 

The next few swats came slowly and were almost on top of each other. Like everything Sniper did, they were perfectly paced to where the man could go on for hours.

_Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…_ Scout’s eyes clenched shut as he felt his cock start to harden. Sniper’s pace started to quicken and soon fell into a steady rhythm. Cheek, cheek, then low with another strike delivered to the thighs just enough to keep Scout a little off balance. The moisture gathering in his eyes started rolling down his face, running into the corner of his mouth to let him taste their saltiness. It wasn’t long before he was fully erect, his dick bobbing heavily underneath him as it rubbed up against the coarse blanket that covered the crate. The scratchy material added an entirely new layer of stimulation as it rubbed against the sensitive head. 

“Snipes, please!” Scout heard himself begging as he dug his toes into the hard packed dirt and tried to hump the crate like there was no tomorrow. His heart was racing his chest, his breathing ragged from his sobbing and need. The rough wool stung almost as much as the blows from behind and he was getting so… damn… close.

“Please?” Sniper’s voice was low and gravely as he continued to rain blows across Scout’s bottom. “Please what?”

Tears rolled down Scout’s cheeks and he clinched his jaw, suddenly not wanting to let out so much as a whimper. Part of him wanted to yell stop, to beg for the punishment to be over, but it had been so long since he’d been properly disciplined and the stinging heat was just too painfully sweet. Even if it meant that Sniper saw what sort of sick little fuck he really was, he didn’t want it to stop. 

“Are you sorry? You gonna apologize for having been a little shit?”

A low whine slipped through Scout’s lips as he tried to cant his hips to both meet the hand that was dealing out punishment to his ass and the blanket that was rubbing him raw.

“Yes, I’m sorry!” The words sounded desperate to his ears, but right now he’d say anything Sniper wanted. He felt his balls tighten under him as each successive spank brought him ever closer to the edge. 

The hand didn’t miss a beat. “Yer sorry for what?”

“For being a shit! Come on, Snipes, please! I’m gonna…”

One last swat was all it took. Scout let out a strangled moan as his entire body shuddered, his hips bucking against the crate and shooting his load in spurts into the blanket underneath. Once he was spent he just lay there, his breaths coming in gasps as he tried to make the world around him stop spinning. Sniper’s hand had disappeared, and Scout felt a new heat rising in his face as he realized that there was no way he could move without Sniper seeing the streak of white spunk against the blanket underneath.

“Ya gonna be good little roo now?” The words were gentler and closer as Scout felt Sniper’s breath across his neck. A rough hand rubbed away some of the lingering sting as Sniper let up the pressure on Scout’s back. 

Scout was quiet for a moment. The wool blanket was itchy against his face and chest, and he was sure that there was going to be a nice burn there tomorrow morning. As his body hung limply off the edge of the crate, he felt his cum starting to cool against his crotch in a sticky mess. There was no way the marksman could have missed the effect his punishment had, and that left Scout utterly bewildered as to how he should answer. But as he turned to look over his shoulder he saw an unmistakable bulge in Sniper’s own pants that told Scout just what kind of effect it had on him as well. 

A weary grin slowly spread across Scout’s face. 

“Depends. Do you spank good boys, too?”


End file.
